He hesitated a moment, and taking Richard by the arm, stood still and looked about him at the passing throng.
“Within a radius of half a mile, Richard, not only every nation, but nearly every tribe, religion, sect, family, and name that the world has ever known has its representation. See, there’s an Italian barber-shop across the street kept by a man named Cæsar. We are to dine at a French restaurant whose proprietor bears the historic family-name of Valois. I remember a few lines of an after-dinner poem one of the men in the office read last year at a journalistic banquet. It began:—
“‘Did you say there was no romance
In a town that deftly blends,
In a picturesque mosaic,
All the Old World’s odds and ends?
In a city where the scapegoats
Of the older countries meet,
’Tis a crazy-quilt of nations
That is seen upon the street.’”